Chekhov's 1903 works a letter "Dear Marya Sergeyevna! Here is the book which I wrote about on Wednesday. Please read it. Please pay attention to pages seventeen to forty-two, ninetieth Pages two, ninety-third and one hundred and twelve, pay special attention to those places where I have drawn the line with the pencil. What power! The form of the book is obviously clumsy, yet in this clumsiness What a wide freedom it can make people feel, what a great and broad artist! In a sentence, the word "it" appears three times, and the word "obviously" appears twice; the sentence is so crudely constructed that it seems not to use It is written with a pen, but with an eraser, but what a fountain springs from under the words "it", what flexible, rigorous, profound thoughts, and what pungent truths are contained! You are reading this book , you will see between the lines as if there is an eagle flying in the clouds. At this time, people have no heart to worry about the beauty of the words. Thoughts and beauty are like hurricanes and waves. They should not care about the usual fixed format. Their format is freedom. , should not be restrained by consideration of the words 'it' and 'apparently'. The slightest stylistic defect of mine has always held me back and annoyed me when I wrote to you, that is to say , I am not an artist, words are better than images and emotions in me.

"You must read this book. I read it all day yesterday, and I was breathless. I felt a new element of life that I didn't know before, sinking into my soul. Every time I read I feel that I have become a little richer, a little more powerful, and a little more noble! I am surprised, weep with joy, and I am proud. At this time, I deeply and mysteriously believe that the real talent comes from God. I feel that in these powerful, Not a single page in the book comparable to a force of nature is not written in vain, which, by its source and its existence, must cause in nature a phenomenon corresponding to its force, a quasi-subterranean rumbling, weather Turns of the world, storms at sea, and the like... I do not believe, a thousand do not believe, that nature, which is all reasonable, ignores the most beautiful, most reasonable, most powerful, most invincible part of itself, which is The part of human beings created by genius against its will. I feel like I'm talking nonsense, you're laughing at me, but please don't stop me from talking stupid words, dreaming sweet dreams, and telling myths. You can no longer imagine, When a man knows that what he writes will be seen by your kind eyes, he will write with joy and joy even in idle nonsense.

"Yesterday I was only occupied with my reading, and even the visit of my favorite Travnikov did not please me. He came with a headache and a bad mood. Since the major operation, he has always been It was a headache, it was poisoned by carbolic acid gas. He asked about my legs, and I answered him by reading the twenty lines I underlined on page ninety-second, and between us The literary debate began. Travnikov said: "'The time I spend reading philosophy, poetry, and prose I think is wasted.These books are full of pretentiousness, but they don't explain and explain a single phenomenon to me, so I don't like them.

Their content is subjective, so half of them are lies, and the other half are dubious, somewhere between lies and truth.The notion that you can't do without them is a prejudice; they serve pure entertainment, like drama and vaudeville, and I read them now for pleasure.I am partial to authors who are less self-righteous, and the most appropriate books in this respect are the French novels. '"'Then let me ask you, who taught us to think?' I said. "'It's those who tell the truth, and poetry and fiction don't tell the truth.'" And so on, nothing more than this.If it pleases you, go and quarrel with him!He is a stubborn, prejudiced man.Then we started talking about beauty.

"'Beauty is pleasant,' said he; 'it serves pleasure only, and for that reason it is hard to live without it. Whoever seeks in Beauty not for pleasure but for truth or knowledge, will Beguiled by beauty, I have delusions, I am confused, like entering a maze. I was not careful before, and I learned to think from beauty, and it turned me into a drunkard and blind. For example, when I read "Faust" At that time, I didn’t notice that Margaret① was the murderer who killed her own child. In Byron’s "Cain", whether Cain② himself or the devil, in my opinion, they are infinitely cute.

...Are there still a few cases like this? ' "He clasped his aching head with both hands, leaned it on the table, and said feebly: "'Beauty, talent, sublime, graceful, artistic things, all of which are lovely. , however conditional, does not tolerate logical definitions, and from these no definite and invariable laws can be derived.In ancient times, someone said that the nightingale is the lover of the rose, that the oak tree is strong and powerful, and that the dodder is gentle, well, we believe it. ...but why believe it? ’ “I just got angry like I always do and said things I shouldn’t have said.

"'I don't understand, why are you angry?' he said, looking up. 'What's the insult in saying that art is purely for entertainment? My dear, I'd rather be a Writer, if only I'm good at amusing the sick and the jailed with my little books. If you've had a good day today, isn't it a little credit for being a writer? But, man, I've got a terrible headache. Maybe you're right. I don't understand anything.'" Poetry and prose explain not a single phenomenon!So did the flash of lightning explain something?It is not for it to explain something to us, it is for us to explain it.We would be too wonderful to deny electricity instead of explaining it, simply because it doesn't explain much to us.To know that poetry and all so-called beautiful arts are austere and wonderful phenomena of nature, we should learn to explain them, and not wait for them to explain something to us.How regrettable, how sad, that even intelligent and excellent people look at every phenomenon with a specialized, paranoid, and purely personal point of view.Travnikov, for example, is tormented by the specific question of God and the purpose of life; art does not solve this question, does not explain what happens to man after death, so Travnikov considers art to be prejudice, Reduced it to the point of simple entertainment, thought it would be easy to live without it, he even once said in your mother's face, as if jokingly, that art is one of the 'generational evils'.Doesn't he remind you in this respect of an acquaintance we all knew?This man dismissed both medicine and science simply because he saw that the doctor did not dance the mazurka very well.Wine is sweet, palatable, and invigorating, but that would not be enough: there must be some tailor who would deny it, because it does not remove stains, it cannot be used as turpentine.

"But enough of the philosophy. My legs are still the same. Travnikov insists on an operation, but I don't agree. Nature itself seeks to cure people's diseases, and I ardently hope that it is hers." My nature. Maybe I can do without surgery. I am very lonely, and if I hadn’t had books, I think I would be so lonely that I would cry all day long. It’s absurd to live eight versts away from you and not have the right to go to you. Is to suffer! "Yesterday your mother stopped by us at Zeleniney's. She and my father reproached me for leaving the madrassah. Everyone told me that I was not wise. .Maybe. I don't know why I left the academy myself, but I also don't know why I should stay there. The hunger for life torments me. My life is you all, and I love you infinitely. If I don't see your beautiful, gentle face that shines with kindness, if I don't hear your voice once a month, then I can't bear it; I can't bear it if I don't see your magnanimous mother and your joie de vivre, kind-hearted, God-blessed family, who are as close to my heart as my brothers Like my father. I need to see my suffering old father by my side every day, and hear him sleepless nights talking about my brother, a convict. I need my mad, friar My brother comes home from the monastery every two or three months just to have his eyes glowing, to scold civilization in front of me, and then go back.

My life would not be complete if I didn't see Travnikov even once a week, a man drawn into a quagmire by his greedy, obstinate, bitter thoughts The deeper I got into it, the more strongly I liked him.He demands faith at all costs.He needs God, seeks God, seeks it day and night, but he finds only an abyss, and the longer you look into this abyss, the deeper and darker it becomes.It was a great pleasure for me to walk in the village and drop into the farmhouses to talk to people.What a variety of faces, tones, wits, tastes, beliefs there!Our old deacon Pavel Denisovich is such a lovely person. For the past two years, he has been on the verge of death every day, but he can't die. Even he laughs at his own vitality: "I I'm going to die, I'm going to die, but I can't die!' Life is good, Maria Sergeyevna! Yes, life is heavy and short, but on the other hand it is so rich , Reasonable, colorful, interesting, what a marvel! Travnikov is hurting himself, he seeks immortality and eternal happiness; but I am not so greedy, I am not so greedy for this short, small, but beautiful Life is already very satisfying.

"As soon as I could walk, I set to work. I would look after the farm and devote myself to the arts. I would write. But what? I didn't succeed with my novella. I was not good at technique, I Too speculative. My mind is so crowded with images and pictures, I have a lot of them, and yet for some reason my protagonists cannot form characters of character, resembling each other like two drops of water. My characters act Less, more thinking, and the exact opposite is what is needed. I am doing critical work at the moment. I am going to do my own research and explain to the best of my ability what I love so much and what I think should be the only permanent objection Prejudice, ignorance, methods of enslavement.

"Yesterday my father stumbled in the street and fell. He explained it was fatigue: it was Good Friday and he was praying almost all day. Thankfully, nothing happened. "My warmest regards to all your family. I bow, I bow! I hear it's real spring outside the window, but I can't see it. If only I could go to you now! I just want to be with you Let's climb the mountain together once, and I don't ask for anything else. Has the cherry tree bloomed? But it's still early. Good-bye, I wish you happiness, health, happiness, and please don't forget to love you sincerely and faithfully Your crippled Ignady Bashidanov." When Ignasha had finished writing the letter, he put it in an envelope and wrote the addressee: "To Madame Maria Sergeyevna Volchaninova". At this moment Father Alexis came into the room, holding a tray with a cup of tea in his hand.Ignasha panicked and stuffed the letter under his pillow. ④ "Notes" ①The heroine in "Faust". ②A character in the Bible who killed his younger brother Abel out of jealousy. ③The nickname of Ignatius. ④The manuscript is interrupted here.